Harry Potter and the Four Chance House Heirs
by mpregauthor
Summary: The Golden Trio and one unlucky ferret have been picked by the Goblet of Fire for this incredible opportunity. Opportunity to keep from getting cursed that is. MPREG. Adopted from Carrie Fae. Continued.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** This was originally done by my friend, Carrie. Unfortunately, her college load became too much and so she let me adopt the story. Yay for me! Yes, I will do my best to continue with what she has written. DANG, she has written a lot. Oh well.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter obviously.

* * *

Chapter 1

Bad Days and The Other Minister

* * *

No, it was not a good day for Harry Potter. As a habit, he had waited for Dudley to come toddling down the stairs, yelling, "Wake up, lazy bones!" And as such, he waited until the dust fell down from his so called 'ceiling' to actually get up from his so called 'bed.' Yes, he had angered his Uncle Vernon; he was back in his cupboard underneath the stairs.

It wasn't as if he had really done anything. All he had truly done was threaten to do the same thing he had done to Aunt Marge he had done the previous two years ago. It wasn't like he actually was going to blow him up, but the thoughts had gone through his head more than a few times.

Truthfully, he just wanted to get away from the Dursleys. He had only been with them for about three weeks and he was already getting sick of them. Uncle Vernon had not his temper in check throughout the entire week and was liable to blow up at anyone who dared step the wrong way in his path. The reason for this behavior was due to his job at the screwdriver factory. It appeared as though he was getting more than his fair share of work there and he was getting yelled at left and right. What better therapy than to turn right back around and start yelling at his family?

Harry had barely gotten out of the shower before he was immediately ushered into the kitchen by Aunt Petunia, muttering something about Vernon being in an, "awful state this morning." That had been the understatement of the year.

"HARRY POTTER!!" Harry had winced when he heard the pronounced roar of his Uncle, and had walked into the kitchen with something of a screwed up smirk on his face.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked.

"You were supposed to cook breakfast this morning!" Vernon yelled, stabbing at the curdled milk inside his coffee cup. "And I thought I sent you on an errand to go to the grocery store to pick up some milk! This stuff is spoiled!"

"You did Uncle Vernon, but there was none left at the store apparently, they were restocking it that day, so I had no choice but to resort to cream."

"The ruddy cream was _spoiled_ , you insolent beggar!"

Harry didn't know what had possessed him (perhaps the desperate need to get out of the house drove him mad) to say shrewdly, "Should I run on over to the grocery store now and pick up some milk?"

"Why yes, I think you should!" Vernon said, imitating the voice similar to Dolores Umbridge. And it wasn't like Harry couldn't see Vernon Dursley and Dolores Umbridge sitting by each other at the breakfast table and having tea together.

So Harry had left, but at the moment, he was regretting ever leaving Privet Drive. His scar was burning something awful and his he had a headache on top of that. He wanted nothing more than to curl under some warm blankets and sleep for an eternity…or at least until he felt better. The yelling had made his headache start in the first place, and it seemed like the Dark Lord was ticked off about something. Again.

Finally the milk was bought, and he hurried back to his Uncle's house, hoping he had come home _after_ his Uncle Vernon had already left.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. Harry returned home to a furious Uncle Vernon, shrieking at the top of his lungs about the car not being able to start.

"I got that thing fixed two months ago!" Uncle Vernon was shouting.

Harry made a quick dash inside the house, hoping he would go unnoticed. Unfortunately for him, Uncle Vernon just happened to be raving inside the living room.

"Where have you been, you filth?!" Uncle Vernon yelled, pointing a fat finger at Harry, his face as purple as a plum.

"I've been out getting milk at the store like you asked me to this morning," Harry said simply, unconsciously slipping his wand through his fingers in his pocket.

"Oh, I highly doubt that," Vernon said dangerously, taking two fat steps toward Harry.

Petunia was currently cowering in the center of the living room, her face as white and translucent as baking sheet paper, her horsey face turning into that of a pony's.

"You were out hexing the neighborhood, is that it? You cursed my car!"

Harry blinked in confusion and then shot one of his famous, "I-have-a-wand-and-I'm-not-afraid-to-use-it," looks. "Of course! I can use my wand without having a screeching owl delivering me a howler from the Ministry of Magic telling me I've been expelled!" Harry said sarcastically. "Of course, that makes perfect sense!"

If possible, Uncle Vernon's face turned even a darker shade a purple, border lining chartreuse. He took his grubby sausage like hand, gripped Harry's collar, and then began dragging him to his cupboard.

"One little _peep_ out of you and you're going to regret it! No lunch and no dinner, do you understand that? I want have some snot-nosed freak sass me, no sir!"

And that's where Harry ended up and was stuck there again, much to his chagrin. No, it was not a good day for Harry Potter. But then again…what day was?

* * *

Ron Weasley had had enough! No, it was not a good day for Ronald Weasley. Ginny, his sister, was running around the house asking where her jumper was and her mother, Molly Weasley, otherwise known as Mrs. Weasley or 'mum', was going round the house trying to tell her that it was on the cat.

Fred and George, his older twin brothers, very much identical, were of no help to him whatsoever, teasing him and poking fun at him 'round every corner. They also had the habit of playing hideous and sometimes disgusting pranks on Ron, and he would usually get the worst of it.

And Bill was off gallivanting with Fleur, his girlfriend, or so he surmised, and Arthur Weasley, his Father, was off busy working at the Ministry of Magic at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, and so was Percy, another one of his older brothers, and he was the personal assistant to the Minister of Magic himself! But ever since Percy got that title, Ron had dubbed him, "Air-Head." He'd become a little too proud since obtaining that role.

And that was just the local family. Charlie, another older brother, was working in Romania, so it was no use to get any sort of help from him.

Ron moaned and put his head down on the table in annoyance. Oh how he hated not having someone to talk to. Harry wasn't answering his letters, Hermione was too busy studying for her NEWTS she was _going_ to take this year, and well…truthfully…there was no one else to talk to except members of the Order, but it wasn't like any of them had any time.

No, everybody was too busy worrying about their own schedules instead of giving a helping hand to someone who actually needed it.

He got up from the table and moved over towards the window staring out of it. His real problem was not the new material they were studying this year, oh no, but it was the fact that he had felt overlooked by both his friends and family for the past three weeks. Ever since school ended, well, an odd loneliness had crept up around

him.

Someone might ask, well, how can you be lonely in a family of 7 children and 2 adults? "Lot's of ways," Ron would've replied.

If they would've asked to list them, Ron would've easily been able to. But they wouldn't ask that, would they? Nobody had asked how he was or how he had been doing, so one could only assume they wouldn't ask for details.

He glared at the room moodily and picked up an apple from the center bowl, only to have his mother walk in and slap his hand at that very moment.

"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare, you'll ruin your lunch!" Mrs. Weasley said, a very scolding tone seeping through her normally sweet but strict voice. "You've had enough snacks today; I'm surprised you and your brothers don't eat us out of house and home!"

Ron scowled and put the apple back in the bowl. Oh how he'd love to play a prank on his mother right now. Of course, that would be a mistake. She would most definitely send him upstairs for a good hour, and then she'd forget about him and allow him to come out of hiding whenever she was in a good mood.

"But mum, I'm bored. I've done my chores, I've looked over this stuff for school, and I have to tell you, its complete rubbish. Since when do I need a dream diary about certain odd facts like missing sneakers? Harry is considered the loony in Divination and _his_ dreams actually _do_ make sense!" Ron whined.

"Well, I could think of a good many things you could do around the house," Mrs. Weasley said, placing her hands on her hips, a smirk on her face.

And just then Fred and George popped in. "Oh," Fred said. "You said you were bored, right?"

The twins snickered and shook their heads. "I thought for sure you would have learned by now," said George.

"Boys," Mrs. Weasley said, shooting a finger up in the air, her red hair flailing and frizzled already. She continued, "One more fight…one more prank and I'll drag you into Azkaban myself!"

Fred and George knew that their mother wouldn't do such a thing, but when she threatened Azkaban you knew it was time run and scram. They headed upstairs with grins on their faces, thinking about what proper punishment their poor brother Ron was going to get.

"You can clean out the hen house, Ronald. It seems as if a few of the chickens got into a fight and there are smelly eggs everywhere. I'm too busy, so, if you would be so kind…"

Ron felt his cheeks grow warm and knew they were starting a color competition with his hair. He had to do this without a wand. No, today was not a good day for Ronald Weasley.

* * *

Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book down on her bed and threw herself beside it. No, today was not a good day for Hermione Granger.

Even though she adamant about Purebloods verses Mixed Bloods or Muggleborns, she had a bit of a problem with her Muggle friends. Backstabbers by the looks of it.

She had tried to converse with one of her best Muggle friends, Alameade Henderson, a very respectable young lady, smart and cunning like Hermione, but boisterous and funny at the same time. Perhaps that's why Hermione and Alameade got along so well. Then again, there had been a bit of a resistance whenever Hermione left for Hogwarts…and apparently far more than Hermione realized.

Alameade had apparently thought it better to become the best and final friend of Hermione's worst Muggle enemy, Uberta Hemmingsworth.

To describe Hemmingsworth, it was only fair to call her the female and muggle version of Draco Malfoy. Yes, she was that bad. And it was only fair that Hermione describe her as the girl who didn't think that the sun shone until she got up. A piece of money, snobby, and selfish trash.

And now, Uberta made Alameade swear that she was to never speak to Hermione the freak ever again. Hermione had been called a freak by Uberta. That was a first, but it wasn't like Hermione was surprised. They had never really been on speaking terms with each other, but it was only plausible that if they ever were, Uberta would speak harshly.

And not only that, but Hermione now had the slightest clue as to how Harry felt over the summer. His own family had been calling him a freak since they first learned he had the ability to use magic. Yet, hearing the name 'freak' from Alameade had been a word she never wished to hear and it hurt.

She curled her head around in her white a flower-patterned bed comforter and groaned. If only life and its people were easier. Crookshanks jumped on top of the bed and began to meow defiantly.

"I'll get you some food later, Crookshanks, okay? And I'll make it up to you with fish treats…"

Crookshanks just stared at her and meowed again. "Right then. Maybe-"

"Hermione! Time for dinner! Oh, and remember to feed Crookshanks!"

Hermione groaned. She didn't want to feed Crookshanks right now, she was too depressed, but apparently, she had no choice in the matter. No, today was not a good day for Hermione Granger.

* * *

Draco Malfoy leaned tiredly against the banister. No, today had not been a good day for Draco Malfoy.

His father had just come back from another meeting with the Dark Lord, only to nearly be Crucio'd into oblivion, save for the Dark Lord thought perhaps Lucius might've still been of some use to him.

Draco and Narcissa, his mother, had been up with the house-elves taking care of Lucius all night, administering him various potions to help with the after-effects of the Cruciatus, that of which consisted of uncontrollable shaking, clamminess, nausea, possible vomiting, pain, and spasms.

Snape had visited once or twice in the following night, both to give various potions to Draco and Narcissa for Lucius' pain and to check up on him just for the heck of it. He was suffering from his own Crucio curse, but he hid it well.

Now, it was midnight, and his father was still moaning and groaning in pain. Draco had less sympathy now for his father, and wanted nothing more than several hours of decent sleep. But no one got sleep whenever his father had come back from a violent meeting with the Dark Lord.

Not only was Lucius moaning and groaning in pain, but he was also moaning and groaning because he felt guilty. He had let the Dark Lord down by letting Harry Potter and his nasty little friends get away with the Prophecy, and then of all the things they did, they broke the prophecy and not a single soul heard it fully.

Lucius felt horrid, and he now knew that he was definitely going to be punished more than just a mere Cruciatus curse. As of right now, he was considered the laughing stock among all the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had a thing about subordinates who couldn't keep their tops on straight. Theodore Nott was now top dog of the Death Eaters. He hadn't failed as badly as Lucius had. Not only had Lucius angered him, but so had Bellatrix. She had failed at getting that dog behind the veil, that dog named Sirius Black. And the Dark Lord had used Lucius as a siphon of anger to that extent.

And now, Draco was catching a small break. He wanted nothing more than some food and a nice rest. His mother had fallen asleep in the chair next to his father, and Lucius was FINALLY asleep.

Draco crept down the stairs and hurried down towards the kitchens. He wanted some chocolate…or some warm milk…as he always seemed to want whenever things weren't going his way. Some comfort food. He was not at all an emotional eater, but there was just sometimes he wanted more than just the comfort his bed could give him.

As he was going down to the kitchens, he came upon a rather stubborn looking house-elf. Tibby. "Does Master Draco want something, sir? Or is it Master Lucius?" Tibby asked.

"Nothing, you silly house-elf. I'll get it myself," Draco said. It was obvious he was tired. He was actually sinking to a new low. Chastising house-elves. He only did that when he wanted a little dirty fun or whenever he just wanted to kick something around. Call them the tin cans of the house.

"Yes, Master Draco," Tibby answered. "Tibby has to do some cleaning in the kitchen, if that's alright with Master Draco…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Only if you promise not to bother me," Draco answered.

Tibby's floppy ears drooped. "Of course not, Tibby promises not to bother you." And Draco hoped it would stay that way. He moved over to the cabinet and pulled out a few of the Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean packet and hoped to find some chocolate flavored beans inside…but his musings were immediately interrupted by a loud crash and a groan from upstairs.

Draco looked to Tibby, who appeared to have dropped an expensive bowl and it had shattered into a million pieces. Draco groaned, and that groan was immediately answered by a familiar yell from upstairs.

"Draco?! Where are you?! I need my anti-nausea po-" And there was suddenly a splattering sound and a few coughing sounds after. Draco moaned and slapped his forehead. "Tibby…you better get a mop!" Draco growled, and picked up a bucket himself.

No, today had and was not a good day for Draco Malfoy.

* * *

The Muggle Prime Minister of Britain was currently sitting in his office, drinking a cup of tea and waiting for a call from a rather important representative from a foreign country. It was 3 o' clock in the afternoon. Yesterday had been a rather awful day and today seemed similar if not worse.

The morale and people of the country of Britain had seemingly been like wet blankets and as whiny as a toddler would be if the toddler didn't get his or her own way.

The weather didn't seem to be of any help either. It was completely wet and rainy, and it seemed as if it was only going to get drearier. The sky was grey and there seemed to be a thick fog covering the place. Visibility was close to nada, and it was barely even July!

Suddenly, the Prime Minister heard a strange sort of coughing noise in the room. He froze. It was the picture. He recognized that cough.

"The Minister of Magic will be arriving shortly with some news," the portrait said, his deep eyebrows twitching. "Well…uh…never mind. Perhaps he'll tell you himself."

And with that, the portrait stopped moving. The Prime Minister seemed to unfreeze slowly as he realized what was going on. The Minister of Magic was coming...and that could only mean one thing. Bad news. Or more odd creatures needing to be pushed into Britain. He was sincerely hoping that he had misheard it two years ago whenever Fudge told him they needed to bring Dragons in from Romania. Maybe it was Dragonflies…oh no, that would never make sense.

The Prime Minister started to shake a bit in his knees and suddenly wished for the small flask he used to carry around until his wife made him give up the stuff. "Too much for you," she used to say. "It will make you lose the election!"

And indeed, he didn't drink and the general public seemed pleased. But if he was ever caught…his reputation could've become a sham.

Another cough came from the portrait a few seconds later and the Prime Minister stood up this time. "The Minister of Magic...Minister Fudge!" the portrait said loudly, and suddenly vibrant green flames erupted from the fireplace and in stumbled a very stormy weathered looking Minister of Magic.

"Ah, Minister!" Fudge said somewhat distractedly as he took off his bowler hat and cloak and set it on the coat rack by the door. "How lovely to see you again! It's been a while, hasn't it? Why I haven't talked to you since two years ago, haven't I? Well, it certainly has, my dear boy, it's good to see you again!"

"Uh…Minister," the Prime Minister said, clearing his throat. "I highly doubt you came in here for a little chit-chat. Just take a seat," he said pointing to the hardest chair in front of his desk, and smiling at the same time. "Will you tell me why you've come and then leave? I don't mean to be rude, but I have a _very_ important phone call coming in-"

Fudge laughed and slapped the Prime Minister on the back. "Don't worry about it, we'll have our Memory Department make him forget to call you today and he'll call you tomorrow! Now, there are a few important matters of business I must speak to you about."

The Prime Minister tried desperately not to roll his eyes. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good.

"Now then, where was I? Oh yes! I was about to tell you. You see, we have a bit of a problem," Fudge said, his brow furrowing deeper into his skull, and the Prime Minister could see a few more wrinkles on his forehead, quite a few more grey hairs, and many of the remaining brown ones seemed to have crawled back away from his sagging face.

"And what problem would that be, Minister?"

Fudge began pacing and then said, "Perhaps you better have a sit down, dear chap. I promised dear old Dumbledore I wouldn't worry you too much. Here, uh, have a scotch!" And Fudge began to pour a shot glass for the Prime Minister, putting it in front of Prime Minister once it was filled to the brim.

Not only did the Prime Minister not like being asked to sit at his own desk in his own office, but he most certainly did _not_ like this preposterous excuse for a Minister telling him to have his own scotch!

Yet he took the shot glass without complaint, and waited for the Minister of Magic to continue.

"Well now, here we go. Uh, do you remember when the bridge collapsed a few weeks ago?" Fudge asked, wringing his hands around as if he was cold.

"How could I forget? Phone call after phone call of people calling in screaming about how unsafe the rest of the bridges are and how much more funds must go into them. I'm still receiving calls! You think they would've died away by now, but they haven't. They're still pouring in!"

"I think I've just added to your problems, dear chap. Do you remember a few years back whenever I mentioned uh…" the Minister fidgeted again. "A certain uh…Dark Lord that supposedly posed no threat to the Muggles or the Magical world?"

The Prime Minister stared at him. "What do you mean by _supposedly_?"

"Oh, well, it just seems that…it was that certain…You-Know-Who's fault that the bridge collapsed…"

The Prime Minister just stared at him. "You mean the Dark Lord?"

Fudge nodded miserably.

The Prime Minister's face went red. "You mean to tell me that you didn't realize that this man, this villain, was a threat to you? You just…_let_ him do this? _You mean to tell me that I've been receiving phone call after phone call blaming me for a bridge that collapsed whenever it was one of your people's doing?!_"

The Minister of Magic fidgeted under the Prime Minister's stern gaze again. "We weren't aware that he was even alive, much back in power. If you hear anything from any one that is of this name…of V-V-Vol…oh, never mind. I'll write it down!"

After he had written it down, the Prime Minister seemed to calm down, but hide and buckle down underneath the boulder of stress. "So you mean to tell me that this Lord Vol-"

"Don't say it, dear boy! Don't say it!"

"Fine then that this Lord Vol-I mean that You-Know-Who, has risen back into power and has new people along for the ride? These Death Eaters, or whatever you call them?"

"Oh yes!" Fudge exclaimed, going back over to the drink cart and pouring out another shot glass for the Prime Minister and for which the Minister gladly took another swig of. "Yes, these Death Eaters have risen back to power and-oh! That reminds me!"

"Of what?"

"Well, have you noticed how your Junior Minister, Herbert Chorley, has been acting recently?"

"Ah…a little," the Prime Minister replied, having a gut feeling that this wasn't a good thing.

"Apparently he was placed under a rather badly cast Imperious Curse, an Unforgiveable curse, most likely given by a Death Eater to usurp or destroy you. I'm afraid we'll have to take him to St. Mungo's for care. Don't worry, we'll make sure he's up and at his feet in no time! Give or take a few weeks…"

"A few weeks?!" the Prime Minister asked incredulously. "That long? I need him!"

"Oh, I'm sure Kingsley Shacklebolt would be glad to help you for the time being," Fudge said, sighing and taking his gloves out of his pockets, rubbing them distractedly.

"Quacking isn't _all_ that bad, Fudge, really it isn't. It's just a bit of-wait, how do you know about Kingsley?"

The Minister of Magic laughed heartily. "Who do you think hired him to look after you, my dear lad?"

At this, the Prime Minister looked beet red. Had the entire Muggle world been taken over by these magical people? He had no idea that Kingsley had anything to do with…that world!

The Prime Minister gritted his teeth and said, "He does not have to work here anymore if he does not wish to."

The Minister of Magic raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that so? Has his work been less than nominal? Has he done something wrong?"

"Well…no-"

"Then what's the problem?"

The Prime Minister couldn't help but grind his teeth together. He poured himself another shot of scotch and downed it. At this rate, he'd be so hammered by tonight he wouldn't even have to show up for work tomorrow morning. Say he caught the flu. They would believe him, and think it was due to all this weather. It wasn't like he wanted to come into work at the moment. Oh wait, he couldn't do that. He just remembered. He was expecting a very important call tomorrow.

"Nothing," the Prime Minister replied, and then looked wearily back at Fudge.

"Yes, so the Dark Lord's back in power along with his cronies. And that's also why it's been so dreary around here recently," Fudge sighed.

"What do you mean?" the Prime Minister asked, mentally bracing himself for more dreary, weary, and perhaps even horrid news.

"Well, you remember three years back when I told you about the creatures called Dementors?"

Something clicked within the various hidden corners of the Prime Minister's mind. Yes, he had heard of those things before.

"Aren't those the creatures that guard that prison…Azkaban, was it?"

Fudge put on a forced smile and said, "Yes! Quick as whip, for sure! Yes, well, it appears as though the Dementors are no longer…uh…working as guards for Azkaban."

The Prime Minister blinked. "What do you mean they're no longer working as guards…oh no…don't tell me they've-"

"Yes, they've formed an alliance with the Dark Lord," Fudge said wearily, pressing his palms on his eyelids. "The weather is like this…well…at least, the heavy fog is like this because the Dementors are breeding."

"What?" the Prime Minister asked. "What, you mean they're going to be more of them?"

"Most definitely," Fudge said. "Ah, my dear boy, I'm so sorry to have to tell you all of this."

The Prime Minister couldn't help but look into his shot glass. "And I'm so sorry I had to hear it," he said miserably.

Fudge clasped his hands and said, "Well, there's one other thing you need to know before I leave. It appears as though…well, my boy, I can no longer truly do anything about these attacks by the Dark Lord."

The Prime Minister once again turned a deep red. "What do you mean, you can't do anything? What about the Muggles? What about your own people? We can't do anything about it, what makes you think you can't?!" the Prime Minister shouted. Truthfully, he had had enough of bad news. And he was pretty sure this would send him over the edge.

"It seems," Fudge said. "As though I'm no longer Minister of Magic anymore."

The Prime Minister sat their stunned. "What?"

"I no longer hold that title. I believe that this dank weather and the Dementors had something to do with it, but I'm not sure. They no longer rely upon my counsel. I think they wanted someone better than me. Probably. They've elected a new Minister of Magic. Scrimgeour."

"Scrimgeour?" the Prime Minister repeated.

"Scimgeour. New blood. He'll be arriving-"

"In less than two minutes, sir," finished the portrait, who then 'harrumphed,' and walked out of it, leaving a muddy brown canvas background behind.

"Less than two minutes?!" the Prime Minister exclaimed. He quickly straightened his jacket and fixed his tie, then quickly grabbed a comb out of his pocket and went through what was left of his hair.

And, just like the portrait said, green flames erupted in the fire not two minutes later and out popped a weathered man who looked as if he had survived two wars. He had brown hair and then grey sideburns close to his ears. He looked lionish, in a sense, and he had a slight limp when he walked. He also had yellowish eyes behind dark wire-rimmed spectacles that made him seem…oddly comforting and intimidating at the same time.

"Now, now, I can only assume that perhaps Fudge has gone over who exactly I am. My name is Scrimgeour, new Minister of Magic in Great Britain. Now to a completely different matter of business not having to do with the Dark Lord rising again, I have to ask you to authorize the movement of the Goblet of Fire. You should be able to recall, two years back, whenever Fudge asked you the first time!"

"Ah yes, but why do you need my authorization?" the Prime Minister asked. "I thought you only came to ask me about importing dragons from Romania…and then there was the Sphinx! So, what, you need the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-what's its called Tournament again? And shall I brace myself for more authorization procedures on dangerous creatures entering the country?"

Scrimgeour smirked, revealed surprisingly sharp teeth underneath his lips, and then said, "Not this time. Actually, it's a bit different, and was apparently supposed to be activated within a 1000 year period. Dumbledore was quite surprised to get such a resounding set of yells from his office about it from the other portraits!"

"What was supposed to be activated within a 1000 year time period?" the Prime Minister asked.

Scrimgeour sighed. "Apparently, four house heirs are supposed to be born after a 1000 year period of the school's first creation. 4 worthy students will be picked for this task of providing the four house heirs for the school, all of which will be very powerful. The Goblet of Fire has the responsibility of picking these four students."

The Prime Minister's eyebrows went up. "How exactly will this happen?"

"Through magical uses of spells and potions, of course! The students must either be in their 6th or 7th year of school there to be eligible to be picked. And if the students' parents refuse, a generational curse shall be cast upon them and the rest of their family for as long as they live. The activation of these spells would be immediate if the parents forbid it."

The Prime Minister sighed. The last thing he wanted to know was about all this gobble-de-gook called magic. Spells and curses, blast them all to Davy Jones' locker. He didn't want to know about such things. He would let _them _handle it.

"Take the darned thing, I don't care, as long as it doesn't pose a threat to my people," the Prime Minister said tiredly. "Take it!"

Scrimgeour bowed his head simply and motioned for Fudge to follow him to the fireplace.

"Oh, and please, Prime Minister," Scrimgeour said after a few moments of preparing to leave, putting on coats and grabbing bowler hats, "Keep our backs covered, and keep coming up with excuses as to why these odd things our happening. We can't risk the magical world being uncovered."

And with that, Scrimgeour grabbed Fudge by the collar and dragged him into the fireplace. Scrimgeour reached into his pocket and pulled out a sand-like substance and cried, "Ministry of Magic!"

Before the Prime Minister could even register what had happened, the two men, Minister of Magic, and former Minister of Magic had left.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **For those of you just now reading, I give you thanks. But credit must go to my friend who's dropped out of fanficking for now due to her huge workload. As for me, who's just getting her Elementary Education major and minor in graphic arts, I can only say I don't have as heavy a workload. So yeah, I adopted this story. Enjoy, but please review. I'll make sure to give these to my friend.


	2. The Goblet of Fire Returns

**Author's Notes: **Here's another update. Hope you like! :D

**Disclaimer: **I obviously do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**The Goblet of Fire Returns**

* * *

Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the famous school of Witchcraft and Wizardry at Hogwarts, was currently sitting in his office, tapping his now withered hand against the desk. There was no feeling in it, ever since he had put that accursed ring on. But it was no matter now. He had some work to do. Writing down all the names of all his 6th and 7th year students on separate sheets of paper. A rather simple task, but nonetheless time consuming.

He was loathe to put Harry's name down, but he felt that he must, lest he be growled at by furious former Headmaster portraits.

"You have to write down _all_ their names, Dumbledore!" Finius said haughtily, coming from the green portrait on the opposite side of the room. "If you don't, the school will be cursed and there will no longer _be_a school!"

Dumbledore sighed. He knew Finius was right. But how was it that Finius and all the other Headmasters knew about this, but Dumbledore, the current Headmaster, didn't? He sighed wearily and then asked the question that had weighed heavily on his mind.

"Exactly, how is it that you know about this, Finius? Or all the other Headmasters know about this event? I don't recall ever seeing anything to hint at this in the school."

"Whenever a Headmaster dies," explained Finius, his lips curling into a sneer. "A portrait of them is conjured, and this was set up by the four original house members. But what we didn't know was, that after a 1000 year time period, these so blasted portraits heralded a song of woe, that said if you didn't produce four house heirs_within a two-year time period_, then the entire school would be cursed and there would no longer even_be_ a school. Thus, it is best if we let the Goblet of Fire decide who will represent each one of the four houses! This does not mean, of course that the four houses will have a member from their own house representing them, but simply a person with that house's qualities. It appears as though the Goblet of Fire had also been set up for this purpose. That is why we asked you to bring it here! Plus, the heralded song of woe is so densely annoying that that is why all the former Headmaster portraits, including myself, are, to make an understatement, crabby. You may not be able to hear the song, but we can!"

Dumbledore frowned and said. "Will the song go away once the children are conceived? Or born?"

Finius shuddered unhappily and moaned. "It had better not still be singing until after they're born. I'll want a decent burial of my portrait before then!"

Albus Dumbledore chuckled softly. He knew full well that Finius knew that the portraits could not be removed, and he certainly hoped the songs would stop soon. It would help them not be so crabby…and not to snap at him for the slightest thing.

Suddenly, the doors to the Headmaster's quarters were thrown open by none other than the former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "Ah! Good evening, Albus! We've got the Goblet of Fire for you!" And with a flick of his wand, Cornelius Fudge carefully levitated the

"Ah, wonderful, Cornelius, but I thought for sure that the new Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation would be bringing it? I thought for sure he would since he is one of the 'protectors,' if you will, of the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore said quietly.

Cornelius laughed heartily. "Well, he's busy at the moment, so I'm subbing for him. Besides, just because I lost to Scrimgeour doesn't mean you've seen the last of me yet!"

"I'm sure I haven't," Dumbledore said, a smile laden sullenly across his aged but graceful features.

Dumbledore gathered up the little slips of paper he had been working on and put them into the Goblet of Fire. He had finished, and whenever the Goblet of Fire had selected its, well, _victims_, for the lack of a better term, Dumbledore would be forced to send letters to the four who were chosen.

"I'll give the Goblet of Fire a night to mull over it. And then, perhaps, in the morning, I shall see who was picked," Dumbledore said. "Thank you, Cornelius, you've been a great help."

Cornelius waved his goodbyes to Albus, and then left leaving the blue-flaming Goblet of Fire behind him.

Dumbledore awoke to the sound of something scratching his stained glass window. He opened it and he saw Fawkes staring at him through blue and green eyes. He squawked quizzically.

"I can only assume that you've come to wake me up because the Goblet of Fire has made its decision, am I correct?" Dumbledore said, his grogginess evident. The days were starting to take a toll on him. He was nearly two-hundred years old, and finally, it was getting more than difficult to wake up. The bird let out a trilled squawk as an affirmative.

Dumbledore smiled back at the affectionate bird, and grabbed a few delicious treats to feed it. The phoenix took them gratefully and munched on the licorice ginger snap like it was iced fish.

Dumbledore drew up his overcoat from the side closet, walked out of his room, and down the stairs to his office. Whenever he got to the front of it, he was surprised to see two very anxious looking Professors staring at the door with intensity.

"What are you doing here?" Dumbledore asked, completely surprised. "I expected the both of you to be at your houses. What in Merlin's name possessed you to come here?"

Both Severus and Minerva looked at him, surprised. "Well, we've been remarkably well yelled at by some of the portraits at the Order Headquarters. Specifically Finius. Have you seen his portrait lately? He looks terrible!" Minerva said, her thick Scottish accent tinting every single one of the consonants, like garnishes on a food platter. "Why isn't that you didn't tell of us this new development? Didn't we have the right to know?"

"Headmaster, I have to agree. I believe we deserve told such things, especially when it requires our participation. Understand, that no, I am not in support of this, but if one wishes to keep the school running, then one must do such…drastic things," Snape sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Oh, he could definitely picture some of the upcoming months in his head.

"While this requires your participation, I was going to write you and meet you at Headquarters about this, but I suppose now's as good a time as any. Yes, I suppose you already know how _you_, the Heads of Houses, will be sorted?" Dumbledore asked.

"According to our own house," Snape drawled. "Really, I'd like to see who was picked and who was not; will you allow us to see?"

Dumbledore could've laughed. Snape was always so impatient, but he never expected him to be hasty. Yet he remained quiet, hoping he would keep this moment special. He personally wanted to see the look on Severus's face whenever the name of _his_victim/student was revealed.

Dumbledore opened he doors to his large office and saw that the Goblet of Fire was shooting red, orange, and blue flames into the air. The Goblet of Fire was ready to spurt whatever names it desired.

"Finally!" said Finius. "I was beginning to wonder when it would decide and when you would come! The stupid song is playing over and over again, talking about the Goblet of Fire and what not! These idiot founders; I can't help but wonder if they wanted to torture us or allow us the dignity of remaining Headmasters. I wonder if this is happening to any of the other portraits. Perhaps I should go visit a few of my friends down in Slytherin…"

Suddenly, a single, blue flame spurted out from the top of the Goblet and there was a single piece of parchment floating in the air. Dumbledore lifted up his hand and caught it and then looked at it carefully.

_Representing Ravenclaw_

_Hermione Granger_

_Filius Flitwick_

Dumbledore nodded and looked at Minerva. "I saw this coming. Ms. Granger exceeds even Ravenclaws' standards. It's only plausible that she represent them. Filius will be more than happy to make sure a student is well cared for. He has a kind heart and gentle spirit."

Snape couldn't help but sniff. The only help that man would be is fretting over her if she had morning sickness or not. The ruddy Founders, in Snape's mind, had become complete and utter dunderheads. Who would want to be stuck with such a fellow? Well, perhaps Ms. Granger for the simple reason that she could. "learn a lot from him."

The Goblet of Fire suddenly spurted again, and this time a larger piece of parchment fell down from it. Dumbledore caught it easily and sighed. "Well, I wasn't expecting this, but once again, another member of the trio has seemed to have been picked for this. But...it appears as though the Goblet of Fire is thinking of using boys for the bearers of the chance house heirs. I can't imagine why," Dumbledore said. He gave the piece of parchment to Minerva and her eyebrows were raised.

_Representing Hufflepuff_

_Ronald Weasley_

_Pomona Sprout_

Snape smirked. Weasley with Sprout. He could only imagine the look on his face when he got Dumbledore's letter. And he could only imagine how fretful his parents would be, learning that if they refused yet_another_ Weasley, the family would be cursed. This was a little more than the Weasley's could handle. They already had the curse of near-poverty. Another curse could easily make them throw down the hatchet. He was partially surprised why they hadn't already.

McGonagall looked completely aghast. Two of her children from her own house were already taken. That meant there was no doubt a third on the way.

The Goblet of Fire spurted yet again, and this time, there was a flash of green at the end. Dumbledore caught it, as he did all the others, and suddenly let out a surprised, "Eh?"

"What does it say, Albus?" Minerva asked, wringing her hands together in a nervous matter. "What does it say?"

And Dumbledore handed the piece of parchment to Severus, who in turn barely raised an eyebrow.

_Representing Slytherin_

_Draco Malfoy_

_Severus Snape_

"I was expecting something unexpected, but perhaps the Goblet of Fire is returning the favor of being completely unexpected during the Triwizard Tournament. At least it's not anyone like Millicent Bulstrode, and for that I can be happy…because that would be a disaster. Then again, Draco's always been the wimp of the Malfoy's; I can only concede that his pain toleration will be close to zilch."

Minvera tried to stifle her laughter, but she couldn't. She suddenly ended up with a hand on Severus' shoulder, forcing herself not to make a scene in front of Dumbledore, but it was too late. She was already laughing loudly, and Snape couldn't help but stare at her.

But her laughing had died down once the fourth and final piece of paper came out of the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore caught it and silently prayed that it was not who he assumed it was. And he was right. He looked at the parchment and sighed. "Oh no," he murmured. "This cannot be good."

Minerva finally got her breathing under control and looked at Dumbledore quizzically. "What do you mean, Albus? Who's been put under my charge?"

Dumbledore handed her the parchment. Minerva gasped and said, "Oh no is right…My goodness, what on earth will he do?"

_Representing Gryffindor_

_Harry Potter_

_Minerva McGonagall_

"Dumbledore, what will he do?" Minerva asked. "The poor boy's been through enough! Why has the Goblet of Fire chosen him?"

Dumbledore sighed and ran a hand through his beard. "I believe you made the point, Minerva. The poor boy _has_ been through enough. So much in fact, I believe there is a pattern in the Goblet of Fire's decision."

"Oh really now, what's the pattern?" Minerva asked, somewhat flushed. "I truly am at a loss as to why the Goblet decided to pick the trio and their rival!"

"Minerva, I believe the Goblet of Fire made its decision on the context of experience. And who has had more experience than anybody than Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Malfoy? The Goblet of Fire also most likely based its decision on maturity. Mr. Potter has grown up quite a lot since the last time I spoke with him. So has Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger's always been mature. Mr. Malfoy has grown up a bit, but it's hard to tell and not get his quick wit, sharp mind, and a deceptive nature mixed up with immaturity."

Minerva nodded in understanding and Snape could also see the logic within the Goblet of Fire. If they were able to survive the Cruciatus curse, that combined with a long list of other curses, along the lines of dangerous, and were all in seemingly in good health, except Draco who had recently begun to walk like the living dead, then it would be plausible that they would have a higher success rate than that of someone who hadn't that much experience and who was rather sickly.

Snape sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The-Boy-Who-Won't-Die was going to be _up the duff_. Would that make his life worse? Of course it would. The Potter boy would be more withdrawn and moodier than ever. Snapping back at a teacher would be old hat as the year drew on. Thus, more troubles for Severus Snape.

Dumbledore sighed wearily and grabbed his quill from the ink well on the desk. "Well, I suppose I should begin writing these letters. If you have any additional comments you wish to add to it, if they are your students, you can add an attachment to it."

Minerva frowned. "I'll probably be writing to Potter, but, there's one thing I have to ask, Dumbledore? What exactly will become of the children who are born? What will happen to them?"

Dumbledore sighed. He had waited for this question. "Apparently, the Founders expect the house heir bearers to raise that child," Dumbledore said quietly. "But I can only assume that you both will do everything in your power, along with the relatives of the ones who were chosen, excluding Harry's."

"Yes, Albus, what will you do with the boy? He won't be able to return to the Dursleys after this! They'll throw him out of house and home, calling him a disgrace! You can't expect those…" Minerva had a hard time drawing this word out. "_…people_ to understand!"

Dumbledore knew exactly what she was talking about and said, "I will speak to Sirius and see if Sirius would like to be his caretaker. A custody change. After all, Sirius is Harry's godfather."

"But what about Mr. Malfoy, Headmaster?" Snape queried, his eyebrows raising slightly. "His parents may or may not reject the idea. And I cannot say how the Dark Lord will react to this. Either he'll think of this a curse or a blessing. Either one of the two, I know."

Dumbledore nodded his head gravely. "If worse comes to worse and they reject the Founder Recreation Plan-"

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Minerva interrupted. "We're giving it a name?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I felt as if the name fit the bill," he said simply. "Now if worse comes to worse and they reject the Founder Recreation Plan, then they'll be cursed. But, even if this is a bit on the sadistic side, I like to think of it as (hopefully) one less Death Eater to think about."

Snape's eyes narrowed at this statement. Dumbledore had never posed a side on whether he liked the Malfoys or not, but given their recent history, it was easy to say that Dumbledore had every right _not_ to like them. It had now become apparent what thoughts Dumbledore had about the Malfoys.

_Just another Death Eater for him to think about…_Snape thought and that thought made him rather irritated. But only God knew why.

"But what about You-Know-Who?" Minerva asked, eyes glittering in the soft morning glow. "What if he considers it a blessing? What will we do then?"

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Dumbledore sighed. "For now, let me just get these letters written. Then we can worry about what they write back."

* * *

**Author's Notes: READ AND REVIEW!! :D**


	3. Letters Received

**Author's Notes:** Busy as ever. Hope you enjoy the upload.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Letter's Received

* * *

**

Draco was sitting comfortably on the dark green couch in living room, drinking butterbeer for what seemed like the first time in days. Lucius had _finally_ shut up about the Cruciatus, and now his mother, Narcissa, was finally getting some rest.

Draco shut his eyes and smiled. The only thing that would make this better was if he had some female company. But he guessed he couldn't_always_ get what he wanted when he wanted. Just…most of the time.

Draco quaffed his butterbeer down and finished it with a, "Ahem," instead of the natural belch. After all, Malfoy's do not burp. Loudly, at least.

Before long, the often rancorous butterbeer coma began slipping in, and he felt his lids grow heavy. Yes, the natural Seratonin was starting to do its wonders…

He was jolted awake suddenly by a small, but strong hand on his knee.

He blinked. "Tibby?" Draco asked. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing here, waking me up of all things? You know I've barely gotten any sleep with Father being a wimp, like he is."

The house-elf seemed to look down at his feet ashamedly and then look back up with hopeful eyes. "Tibby's so sorry to be disturbing you sir, but Tibby had to do it! Master Draco has received a letter from Hogwarts!"

Tibby held out the sealed, golden piece of parchment and held it out for him. Draco eyed it uncomfortably and then took the letter. He waved Tibby off without so much as a thank you and then glared at it. There wasn't anything particularly special about this letter, no dark sealing, at least. Just the same dark red seal that came with just about every letter. Perhaps he was getting his grades back? Or how about his Owl results? Or maybe even, he gasped inwardly, his Prefect badge! His father always said how he knew that it was his turn to earn the Prefect badge.

Draco carefully felt the inside contents to see if he could feel the badge. He wasn't exactly sure. There felt like there were almost two letters inside. _Well, if there is, there must be a pretty important reason why…_Draco thought. So, finally, after mind-deliberating, he decided to open the letter.

He grabbed the top and ripped of the seal, pulled out the two thick pieces of parchment, and then threw aside the envelope and its seal. He quickly opened the two letters and began to read the first one. It read:

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_A certain error has occurred in the activation of spells and it seems as though we have run into a bit of a problem at the school. A 1000 year old spell was activated and put up by the Founders intended to recreate__**new**__founders for the school. The way they wished for us to do this was through letting the Goblet of Fire select certain candidates for the job of recreating new founders. You were one of the candidates chosen to represent Slytherin. Yes, this will mean you will have to carry and birth a second Slytherin founder for nine months, Mr. Malfoy. This requires your attention immediately. You and your parents are required to come to the school on July 5th__for a special meeting regarding this honored opportunity. An Auror will come to your house on July 5th, 4:30 pm and you will be traveling by apparating. Your parent's refusal, or your hiding of the letter will immediately result in a very strong generational curse placed upon your family. Please reply,_

_Sincerely,_

_Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Albus Percival Dumbledore_

Draco tried rereading the letter again, all of it, but only managed to reread on particular line. _Yes, this will mean you will have to bear a second Slytherin founder for nine months._Did this mean he was actually going to get…pr-pregnant?

He suddenly felt lightheaded and was relieved that he was actually sitting on the couch. "I-I…Merlin's beard…I...I…MOTHER!!!!"

But Draco's mother didn't come down, no, it was his Father, nearly fully recovered from the Crucio beating, walking calmly down the stairs in his dress robe and looking quizzically at his son.

"Whatever could be so terrible that you have to yell like a Banshee, Draco? Honestly, you'll break the entire neighborhood's windows!" Lucius said, a small hiss in his voice.

Draco couldn't help it and threw the letter to his father like it was the plague. "Take it, take it! It has to be some sort of a…" he snarled, "…sick prank put on by those bloody Gryffindors!"

Lucius looked at the letter and raised his eyebrows. "Who brought this to you?" Lucius asked, suspiciously looking over the letter, examining it's every line and curve. "Was it a house-elf?"

Draco nodded his head and said, "It was Tibby."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. Tibby was supposedly the rather timid and honest elf, somewhat like the former house-elf Dobby. This was completely unlike his character, should he decide to change it.

Lucius glared at the paper once more and said, "Well, I suppose we'll just have to show up on July 5th to see what exactly we are _really_there for, but in the meantime, you will just have grit and bear it. If these so called, "recreations," of the Founders are true, you will be coming with me to a meeting with the Dark Lord."

Draco felt as if his heart had fallen into his stomach. "A meeting with…the Dark Lord?" His throat seemed to close tightly. "When?"

"Presumably a day after we get the required information on this 'honorable opportunity,'" Lucius said. "That is if the letter _is_ valid."

Draco nodded his head solemnly, secretly preparing himself for the blow if it _was_ valid. If it was, he could possibly survive the taunts from other Slytherins with having a, "cake in the cauldron," and he could survive it, but truthfully, he didn't want to. At least, he didn't want to have a confrontation with the Dark Lord. To that he was most certainly _not_ looking forwards too.

But if perchance the whole issue with the letter was a hoax…he'd hex the prank-player so badly they wouldn't be able to walk until next Christmas! And if it was that they were to walk into a trap, Draco would cast an Avada Kedavra. The Dark Lord would be proud.

But then suddenly, another thought occurred to him. If the spell had be activated to make sure that all the founders were recreated, then…who were the other bearers of the new founders?

"Father, who do you suppose are the other new founder bearers then…if this is valid?" Draco asked, suddenly worried. "I won't have to…converse with them, will I?"

Lucius snorted. "You do not _have_ to converse with any of those people if you do not wish to. I have no idea who these founder bearers could be if this letter were valid, and if it is, I suppose we'll find out on July 5th. For now, I'll just have to reply this letter with a stiff, _yes._"

Draco sighed, looked up at the ceiling, huffed annoyingly at it, and then plopped back down on the couch. "This ordeal is going to be the death of me," he muttered. He did _not_ get any sleep that night.

* * *

Hermione was currently pouring over her arithmancy books, wondering if she was even calculating certain numbers right. Chances are, she wasn't. This particular arithmancy question had her stumped, and it was a bonus question. But no, Hermione Granger was not one to give up on a challenge, specifically a challenge given out by a teacher and the valuable, "summer schoolwork," and all its lessons.

Suddenly, Hermione was alerted by a great meowing and crying from her door. Hermione glanced up and moved to open it. When she did, she gasped. There was her little half-kneazle cat, scrappier than ever, scratch marks all over her back and little droplets of blood from them dripping onto the floor.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione cried, suddenly rushing to her cat's aid, grabbing an old shirt from the floor and wrapping her cat tightly in it. "You poor thing; what happened to you?!"

But Crookshanks continued meowing unhappily in her arms, and Hermione made a rush for the door.

"Mum? Dad?!" Hermione cried as she rushed down the small staircase that lead to her bedroom. "Mum?! DAD?!"

"We're in here, Hermione, dear, what's wrong?" her mother asked, glancing briefly up from her _Dentist's Daily_ magazine.

"Crookshanks, mum, he's hurt! Something hurt him!" Hermione cried, showing her mother the poor thing, who was now meowing extensively, yeowling his discomfort to Hermione and her mother.

Her mother put down the newspaper and went over to her, looking at the cat, making sure he was alright. She then sighed, "She'll be okay for now, I think, but you're going to give her a bit of a hydrogen peroxide soak. That should help. I'm going to go outside and see if there's anything that could've attacked her. If I'm not back in five minutes, come out after me."

Hermione nodded her head, glanced at the clock, watched her mother leave, and then headed for the medicine cabinet to grab some cotton balls and some hydrogen peroxide.

She was surprised whenever she heard her mother come in about a minute later. "Did you find anything, mum?" Hermione asked from the hallway, slowly turning over the hydrogen peroxide bottle after stuffing the top with cotton. She gently dabbed at the deep scratches, feeling Crookshanks claws slowly extract due to the slight, but barely noticeable sting.

"It seems as if an owl attacked her," Mrs. Granger said, holding a rather familiar looking letter in her hand. "I shooed it away, but it seems as if it dropped this letter. Looks like it's from Hogwarts."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So soon? I wasn't expecting our OWLs results until next week!"

She grabbed at the letter, and Mrs. Granger took a few steps back and smiled. Of course, her daughter had to be the brightest young girl around. Not even that Uberta could beat her incredible vast amounts of knowledgeable information.

Hermione ripped open the seal and grabbed the letter from inside, but she was not expecting what she saw. It was a hand-written note from none other than Dumbledore, the Headmaster himself.

Hermione began to scan the letter and stopped about midway through to read this particular line:

_Yes, this will mean you will have to carry and birth a second Ravenclaw founder for nine months, Ms. Granger._

It felt as if her heart was thudding in her ears. She was going to represent Ravenclaw…to carry and give birth to a _second founder_ all because of a ruddy 1000 year old dormant spell that had suddenly been activated? She felt a tad bit more than lightheaded. She slowly sank onto the couch next to her mother and handed the letter wordlessly to her.

Mrs. Granger calmly opened up the letter and looked at it herself. She couldn't help but gasp at what she saw.

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_A certain error has occurred in the activation of spells and it seems as though we have run into a bit of a problem at the school. A 1000 year old spell was activated and put up by the Founders intended to recreate__**new**__founders for the school. The way they wished for us to do this was through letting the Goblet of Fire select certain candidates for the job of recreating new founders. You were the candidate chosen to represent Ravenclaw. Yes, this will mean you will have to carry and birth a second Ravenclaw founder for nine months, Ms. Granger. This requires your attention immediately. You and your parents are required to come to the school on July 5th__for a special meeting regarding this honored opportunity. An Auror will come to your house on July 5th, 4:30 pm and you will be traveling by apparating. Your parent's refusal, or your hiding of the letter will immediately result in a very strong generational curse placed upon your family. Please reply,_

_Sincerely,_

_Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Albus Percival Dumbledore_

Mrs. Granger gasped, ran over to the telephone, twirled the dial, picked it up, waited, and then said, "Hello? Oh thank goodness, sweetheart, I need you home right away! No…no…nothing's really wrong…but then again nothing's really right either. Hermione got a letter from the Headmaster. No, no, she hasn't gotten into any trouble of any sort. You know our Hermione, don't accuse her of such nonsense! Then again, she does hang out with that Potter boy…oh, I know he's nice and wonderful…oh, please, just forget it, say you have a family emergency at home…oh please, hurry up! No, come now! Thank…thank you, dear. Bye!"

When she hung up the phone, she glared at Hermione. "What have you done?!"

"What? Me?!" Hermione gasped, innocently staring back at her, dumbstruck, and more than a little afraid.

Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes and said, "You must've gotten involved in something; how did this come about? We can't _not_ accept this or else we'll have a curse on our heads! Is it just me, or does this seem a little coincidental?"

"Mum, do you honestly believe that I, Hermione Granger, would sign myself up for nine-months of bloody terror and worry? I have enough with OWLs and NEWTs coming up! You are absolutely insane if you think I would get involved in something as ludicrous as this, even for a remotely educating experience! If Professor Dumbledore _did_ use the Goblet of Fire, that means that it chose certain people for certain qualities they possess! Smart ones are almost _always_ sorted into Ravenclaw! It'd only be…well…I hate to sound like a snob but…natural for them to choose me!"

"But you're a Gryffindoer…or something, aren't you?" her mother asked, obviously trying to find a way to worm out of it.

"But I've been chosen to _represent_ Ravenclaw! That doesn't mean I _have_ to come from that particular house!" Hermione yelled, her brown frizzy hair becoming even more razzled than it was originally.

She sighed tiredly and glanced down at her feet. "I'll reply Professor Dumbledore and tell him we'll be there on July 5th. Agreed?" Hermione asked quietly.

Mrs. Granger nodded and sighed. But then she asked, "Aren't there four houses?" she asked.

Hermione nodded her head. "Why, what do you-oh!" she slammed her hand onto her forehead and said, "Of course! There must be three others!"

"Well, who do you think they could be, dear?" Mrs. Granger asked, wringing her hands nervously.

Hermione sighed, and squeezed Crookshanks tight, only to receive a growl from him. "I suppose we'll have to find out on July 5th." She was about to get up from the couch and head back into her room whenever her mother interrupted her.

"Hermione, dear, did you read this last part?" Mrs. Granger asked, pointing to the P.S. at the bottom.

Hermione shook her head, took the letter and looked at it before a sudden smile crept onto her face, even in the midst of the insanity. It read:

_P.S. Do not worry, Ms. Granger, your test results should be in by next week. If I were you, I would not worry about the OWLs results for a plethora of reasons, the main one being said that you will no doubt receive top scores for your genius mind. Congratulations and salutations, Ms. Granger.

* * *

_

Ronald Weasley was starving. His mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner and as of right now, it smelled heavenly, but who knew what would happen if something distracted her.

"Oh, Arthur had better be home soon. I do hope he's not going on another one of those midnight raids; it'd be just horrible, seeing as how I've cooked up a good meal for him," Mrs. Weasley said, charming her ladle to continue stirring the potato and cream soup that was yet to be done.

Ron simply glared at the ceiling. Those stupid Ministry officials were working his dad to pieces. If his father worked any harder, he would make himself sick! And that was something that they couldn't afford.

Ronald got up from the dinner table, went over to the cupboard and grabbed a stack of dishes, and another stack of bowls. He quickly set them for his family, 6 in all since the other three were now almost always absent. Percy was still spending the majority of his time at the Ministry, being the Minister of Magic's, "little helper," as Fred and George liked to lovingly call him. That and he was once again off of speaking terms with both Molly and Arthur. Of course, this just made Mrs. Weasley more than a bit grumpy than usual, and it was easy for her to get upset, especially at hearing Percy's name. The family members had a ridiculously difficult time differentiating_You-Know-Who_ from You-Know-Who.

Whenever the table was set, Mrs. Weasley was done with dinner, and she began her regular dinnertime screeching. "Fred, George, Ginny! Wash up! Your father should be home soon, and when he gets here, I want you all to be ready for dinner!" Mrs. Weasley yelled. "Come on, hurry up!"

And just as Mrs. Weasley guessed, a few minutes, a very weary Mr. Weasley knocked on the door. "Arthur Weasley has returned home!" he said, the tiredness creeping into his voice.

"Oh Arthur, just come on in, I know it's you!" Mrs. Weasley said, completely ignoring the rules of safety.

"Molly," Arthur chided. "You know in order to keep safe you must follow through with safety regulations! Now, ask me the password before you open the door!"

"Fine," Molly sighed. "What is your secret ambition?" she asked him.

"To learn how Muggle airplanes manage to stay up in the air," Arthur said proudly.

"Are we done?" Molly asked, her impatience getting to the best of her.

"Not yet. No, Molly, now I must make sure you're not a Deatheater! What is the pet name I've given you?"

Molly blushed and she mumbled, "Molly Wubbles…" she murmured, and she finally opened the door for him. "We both know we're each other, so come on in."

Arthur nodded, and walked through the double-green door. Molly kissed him, took his cloak, his hat, and then put it on the hanger next to the entrance.

As soon as Ron saw his Dad walk in, it felt like a huge relief had washed over him. Not only was his Dad safe and sound, he was home on time.

Fred and George ran in followed closely by Ginny. "Hello Dad!" Fred and George said in unison, and Ginny ran to give her father a kiss.

Mr. Weasley sat down at the table as Mrs. Weasley began serving up her delicious potato and cream soup. Ron. Fred, George, and Ginny dug in almost as soon as their food hit their plates. But their dinner was rudely interrupted by the family owl, Pig, slamming against the window.

Mrs. Weasley gasped and shook her head. "Fred, dear, will you get that?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "The bird's going blind, didn't I tell you that, Arthur?"

"I think we all know that by now, Molly."

"Mum, it looks like Ronnie here got a letter," Fred said, throwing the letter into Ron's lap. "Not surprised really, not after what happened at the Ministry a few weeks ago. Could've died, you know."

Ron quickly opened the letter, ripping off the seal, and made sure the parchment wasn't ripped in the process. He needn't have worried. It seemed as though this letter was important.

He quickly began scanning the letter, but soon realized he was going to have to read this more carefully. He could've sworn he was seeing something he shouldn't have. He reread the letter to only to find out that he saw exactly what he should:

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_A certain error has occurred in the activation of spells and it seems as though we have run into a bit of a problem at the school. A 1000 year old spell was activated and put up by the Founders intended to recreate__**new**__founders for the school. The way they wished for us to do this was through letting the Goblet of Fire select certain candidates for the job of recreating new founders. You were the candidate chosen to represent Hufflepuff. Yes, this will mean you will have to carry and birth a second Hufflepuff founder for nine months, Mr. Weasley. This requires your attention immediately. You and your parents are required to come to the school on July 5th__for a special meeting regarding this honored opportunity. An Auror will come to your house on July 5th, 4:30 pm and you will be traveling by apparating. Your parent's refusal, or your hiding of the letter will immediately result in a very strong generational curse placed upon your family. Please reply,_

_Sincerely,_

_Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Albus Percival Dumbledore_

As if reading this letter wasn't enough, he was currently taking a drink of pumpkin juice before spewing it out all over the table, spraying Fred and George in the process.

"Hey!" Fred said. "Say it-"

"Don't spray it!" George finished.

"What's the letter about, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Ron glared at the letter again before glaring at Fred and George.

"Is this your idea of a sick joke? Because, if this is, it's definitely one of your more ridiculous ones," Ron said angrily, his ears turning a sharper red than before.

"A joke? Us? Giving you a letter that was thought to be from Professor Dumbledore or Hogwarts inparticular, and writing something that apparently made you spit out your juice in response to it? Nope, didn't give it to you. It would've been great if we did though. That's a trick I'll have to remember in the future," Fred said.

Ron's face drained of all color. "You mean…it's not a joke?" he asked.

Both Fred and George frowned, and shook their heads. Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and said, "Ron, hand the letter to me. I'll take a look at it."

Ron gave it to her willingly, and then felt his head lighten. This was one of the few times in his life he briefly wondered if he was dreaming or not. This had to be a dream. It couldn't be real. There was no possible way.

Mrs. Weasley gasped herself and like a domino effect, Mr. Weasley asked, "What is it?"

Mrs. Weasley couldn't help but gape at it, and she looked up at Ron in both excitement and worry. "I didn't expect to get grandchildren this soon," she murmured. Unfortunately, Ginny was had both good hearing and was closest to her mother. She ended up choking on her pumpkin juice, receiving a slap on the back from her Father. Mr. Weasley then looked back at Molly, and said, "What did you say?"

"I said," Mrs. Weasley repeated. "I didn't expect to get grandchildren this soon."

Mr. Weasley impulsively yanked the letter from Mrs. Weasley, earning himself a yelp and a glare from Mrs. Weasley. But it was worth it. He looked at the letter, looked at Ron, looked at the letter again, and then looked at Ron. "Merlin's beard…" he trailed off and then Fred and George came up behind their Father.

"Once your done reading it, we'd like to see exactly what type of a letter Ron got. If he knocked up a girl, we'd like to see who it is," George said, but if looks could skill, Mrs. Weasley's glare could've killed him before an Avada Kadevra.

"Perhaps your brother should tell you," Mrs. Weasley said quietly, but Ron shook his head.

"If you don't tell them now, mum, they'll be hawking me until I do tell them. Go ahead, get it over with," Ron said, his face now a pale grey.

"Well then…Ron is apparently going to have to represent Hufflepuff due to an ancient 1000 year old spell that was activated basically making it be the that a new Founder must be born. Apparently, Ron was chosen by the Goblet of Fire to carry the second Hufflepuff Founder. That's all that I got from it, anyway," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," George said, his brows furrowed. "You mean to tell me that Ron is going to get pregnant with the second Hufflepuff founder? You're kidding me right. Why Hufflepuff? Why not Gryffindor?"

"No idea," Molly murmured. "Oh dear, I suppose I should write Dumbledore back. That would be the best course of action."

Ron felt his stomach flip in nervousness, and briefly wondered if he could actually do this. But then again, as the letter implied, he had no choice in the matter.

Arthur and Molly began eating again, although hesitantly, but Ron had completely lost whatever appetite he had gained. "I think I'm gonna go upstairs," Ron said weakly.

"Not hungry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked sympathetically.

"No appetite," Ron muttered. "Think I'll head to my room."

"I wouldn't blame you," Mrs. Weasley said, eyeing him sadly, and she then watched him slink up the stairs. She could only assume he was going up to have a nice sulk.

After he left, a nagging question entered Mrs. Weasley's mind. "I wonder who represents Gryffindor?" she asked.

Fred and George couldn't help but smile. "As long as it's not Draco," Fred said.

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes at them, and took a drink of pumpkin juice.

* * *

Harry was fast asleep. His face was pressed against his window, and his breath was fogging up the window. The street lamp outside was shining on Harry's face, making it look like there was absolutely no color in Harry's face.

He had been bored. Studying for next year's charms had been downright ridiculous, and finally he got so bored he fell fast asleep against the window. The reason why he was sitting next to the window in the first place was because he was expecting a reply from Hermione, who said she had a good bit of news she needed to tell him, but she wasn't able to yet since it _really_ hadn't made any sense, at least not to her yet.

Harry found this a little odd considering Hermione was the smartest in all of Hogwarts and could make sense of some of the silliest things. Not only did he find this odd, but he simply found this statement out of her character. Hermione wasn't one to admit that she had any knowledgeable weaknesses, or at least willingly. And if she did admit to it, she would be downright embarrassed in telling, and it seemed as if Hermione was a great deal more than willing to tell Harry of this lack of knowledge.

It was about 6 o' clock at night, and Harry was not worried about dinner. He had once again insulted his Uncle Vernon to the point of "no dinner" and it was of no use to try going down while they were still eating. Uncle Vernon, much to Harry's chagrin, had the memory of an elephant and didn't forget things…unless they were objects. Grudges, he could remember. That and punishments. It would've come in handy for Dudley, if Dudley had ever gotten punished. Which he never really did get punished. And if he did get punished, it was usually a scolding, and after that Aunt Petunia would baby him for hours on end until he went to bed…and then life would return to normal, or at least, normal for a spoiled brat who liked beating up little kids.

Harry was abruptly awoken by the sound of something tapping against his window. He opened his eyes wearily. It was a delivery owl. "Where in the world could Hedwig be?" Harry asked himself quietly.

Thankfully, the Dursleys had forgotten about putting bars over the windows ever since that incident regarding the flying car in 2nd year. He opened the window and let the owl in. It was a barn owl, and it squawked at Harry and dropped the letter on his desk. It then put one foot out.

"Oh, so what do you want? A sickle, or a knut? Or would you like one of the treats I feed Hedwig?"

The owl squawked back.

"Treats it is." Harry gave the owl a sugared walnut in return. The owl hooted thankfully.

Harry looked at the letter surprised. True, he was quite a bit worried about what his grade would be on the OWLs, but he was surprised he was getting a letter from Hogwarts, perhaps his results on the test, this early.

He broke the seal on the envelope and opened it. He read the letter quickly and then put it back down. Apparently, the contents of the letter hadn't registered yet. Suddenly, Harry gasped, went over to the light switch in his room, flipped it on, and reopened the letter.

This time he read it a bit more carefully. It read:

_Dear Harry,_

_A certain error has occurred in the activation of spells and it seems as though we have run into a bit of a problem at the school. A 1000 year old spell was activated and put up by the Founders intended to recreate__**new**__founders for the school. The way they wished for us to do this was through letting the Goblet of Fire select certain candidates for the job of recreating new founders. You were the candidate chosen to represent Gryffindor. Yes, this will mean you will have to carry and birth a second Gryffindor founder for nine months, Harry. This requires your attention immediately. You and your guardians are required to come to the school on July 5th__for a special meeting regarding this honored opportunity. An Auror will come to your house on July 5th, 4:30 pm and you will be traveling by apparating. Your guardian's refusal, or your hiding of the letter will immediately result in a very strong generational curse placed upon your current family, future family, and/or guardian. As you will be coming to the school on July 5th, Harry, we have also received word from the Weasleys that you have been invited to their place for the remainder of the summer holidays. I believe they are sending you a letter right now as we speak. The other members of the Order bring you tidings as well. Please reply,_

_Sincerely,_

_Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Albus Percival Dumbledore_

Harry felt his head spin. Perhaps he had read it wrong. He tried reading it again for a third time, and when the contents of the letter didn't change, he felt his gut flip. A child? The Dursleys going to Hogwarts? What type of crack was this? They'd never agree to anything of the sort, and by doing so, they'd get themselves cursed. Not that Harry would mind, though, but that would mean he and his future family would get cursed too.

He felt sweat began to come down his brow, and he knew that he was getting almost as nervous as he had been before the OWLs examination. He suddenly wished he had been Avada Kedavra'd by one of the Deatheaters from last year's excursion in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry swallowed thickly and said nervously, "I guess I have to tell the Dursleys then." He reluctantly got up from the chair and began his descent down the stairs.

The Dursleys were currently eating their dinner and Harry was more than a little nervous about disturbing them, especially about this. Uncle Vernon would be in more than a right state than he had been over the past few days, Dudley would be clueless as usual, and Aunt Petunia would be more than a bit pale.

He heard remnants of their conversation being pressed through and he wearily stepped down the stairs and rounded the living room corner.

Dudley was talking about how he beat the latest wrestler to a pulp, and Uncle Vernon was beaming happily over him.

Harry had to admit, being a wrestler _was_ really the only thing that Dudley was good at. Of course, he was also good at beating people up…and bullying them, but truthfully, Harry couldn't really see the difference.

Harry finally entered the kitchen, greeted by a loud, "What the devil-What are you doing in here, boy?!" Vernon shouted. "Didn't I tell you no dinner?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon, but it appears that I received a letter that requires your attention immediately," Harry said, as seriously as he could. Personally, he was both nervous and unhappy about this endeavor but more than that, he was ridiculously eager to see his Uncle Vernon's reaction.

Vernon grunted, shot out a fat hand, and then snatched the letter from Harry. Harry had flashbacks from when he was eleven and Vernon tried snatching those thousands of acceptance letters from Hogwarts.

Vernon looked over it, took a bite of broccoli, and then began a rapid series of violent choking spells, in which Aunt Petunia had to thump him.

Of course, that wasn't working and he began to drool. Dudley looked horrified. "Mummy, do something!" he cried. Uncle Vernon began to gag impulsively and started the international sign for choking.

"Oh…" Aunt Petunia began, realization hitting her. "Oh! The Heimlich maneuver!"

She steered Vernon upward, and then began the familiar, but foreign upward thrusts she had never had to use before.

Truthfully, Harry had never had a more enjoyable or sickened at a time by watching his Uncle Vernon suffer so. Perhaps his Uncle Vernon would die from choking on broccoli, but he knew he shouldn't get his hopes up.

Finally, Uncle Vernon seemed to cough up the broccoli that had been blocking his windpipe, took a deep breath, and said, "They expect us to go to your bloody school?!" Uncle Vernon roared, earning himself another coughing fit, in which Aunt Petunia thumped him again and began to pour him a fresh glass of water.

"Yes," Harry said simply, enjoying this completely. He had really never enjoyed seeing his Uncle Vernon, until now. Now, it was almost as good as Christmas at the Weasleys.

"They expect you to be even _more_ of a freak, and carry a ruddy magic child?!" Uncle Vernon, his purple face, purple due to lack of oxygen, turning an even darker shade due to anger.

"What?!" Aunt Petunia gasped, and she snatched the letter from Uncle Vernon, scanned the letter and immediately began hyperventilating.

Dudley laughed. "What, you mean that Harry's going to have a baby? He's gonna be ruddy knocked up?"

It was a hideously disgusting laugh, and Dudley kept snorting during his laughing fit, and his laughing fit lasted almost as long as Uncle Vernon's coughing fit.

"Don't worry, Uncle Vernon," Harry said. "An Auror will come over and make sure we'll get there."

Uncle Vernon growled menacingly and made a move to launch and attack Harry's face, but Petunia grabbed his shoulder. "Vernon don't; his wand!"

Somebody finally realized Harry was tightly clutching his wand which was stuck in his baggy jeans of his pocket. "You can't use it out of school, boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted.

"Oh, I'd watch out if I were you because once we get into Hogwarts I can do anything I want to you!"

"Is that a threat?!" Uncle Vernon roared, his face going pure chartreuse, and he grabbed Harry's collar. "Back in the cupboard, boy! We'll see about going to your Pigpimple school! I won't allow it, I won't!"

"But if you don't," Harry said solemnly. "You'll be cursed."

"Balderdash! There's no such thing as curses!" Vernon growled, throwing the letter in the trash. Harry ripped himself out of his Uncle's grasp launched himself over to the trashcan and snatched it.

"There_is_ such a thing, Uncle Vernon!" Harry said, this time a little bit of tension creeping into his voice. He was starting to feel a little on the desperate side. "And if you don't accept, you'll be cursed, and so will I! Personally, I would_love_ to see you cursed, but I don't want to be cursed in the process!"

His Uncle Vernon, for the first time in a long while, went into a complete rage. He grabbed Harry again by the collar, and drew back his fat hand.

THWACK!!!

Harry felt his heart stop momentarily. It took him a bit of a minute to realize what had just happened. His Uncle Vernon had smacked him. It felt like the time whenever Umbridge hit him. In some ways, it felt worse than Umbridge's smack. Maybe because he knew Uncle Vernon far better than he knew Umbridge, or perhaps it was because he hated Umbridge less than he hated Uncle Vernon, but he found that to be laughable. Perhaps it was even because Uncle Vernon was stronger than Umbridge and that Umbridge didn't cause him to bleed.

He spat out the blood that had collected in his mouth and his Aunt Petunia shuddered. "I don't give a _hoot_ about curses, they aren't real! You're coming with me!"

Uncle Vernon gripped Harry once again by the collar and dragged him into the cupboard, slamming the door, and talking through the air slits. "We'll reply to that blasted school of yours, and if your Headmaster gives decent details on that so called curse, we'll go! If he just says they exist but that it can't be proved, we won't! Understand?!"

Harry didn't respond. He simply looked at his Uncle Vernon, grim-faced and stony. Perhaps if he looked at him like that long enough, it'd cause Uncle Vernon to get frightened, and cause him to accept the letter for what it truly was.

But now as the "reaction of Vernon," part was over, Harry felt his stomach drop. He was going to have to carry a child. Not a girl…or so that what it seemed like in the letter, but him. He was going to have to have a child! He was a_boy_, for Merlin's sake! He couldn't have children…could he? It wasn't possible…was it? Not only was he a boy, but he was a mere 16-year-old; why so young? Did these Founders want the students to be the subject on everyone's mind? Then he gulped. He could see possible headlines now. The-Boy-Who-Birthed…or perhaps...The-Boy-Who-Got-Pregnant-Underage. Harry felt his face grow hot. That would be a pure nightmare.

He didn't get to sleep that night. Too much thought on what was going to happen…and then…around two or three o' clock in the morning, he had another thought.

Who were the other people chosen?

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Read and Review please! :D


	4. The Wizard Family Retrieval Unit

**Author's Notes:** Been working at work. And here's your surprise! :D

Chapter 4

The Wizard Family Retrieval Unit

* * *

Harry's Uncle Vernon was in a far worse state than when he had first smacked Harry's face. He was now suffering the effects of a well placed freezing curse, apparently plastered onto the letter Dumbledore had sent back to him. The letter had said:

_Dear Mr. Vernon Dursley,_

_I can only say that there is more than a few ways I can prove the existence of curses. So, I have decided to prove it to you in this letter. An Auror will come and pick Harry Potter and the rest of the Dursley family up at 4:30 pm on July 5th, and that is tonight. By the time you are done reading this letter, you will have been hit with a rather strong freezing curse, proved by yours truly. It's pretty harmless, don't worry. It'll just make you feel like you're in -20 degree weather, when it's really 90 degrees out. Whoops. It's the end of the letter. Have pleasant day!_

_Sincerely,_

_Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Albus Percival Dumbledore_

It was at least 90 degrees outside and Harry's Uncle Vernon was ordering for Petunia to turn the heater _way_ up, causing the rest of the family, including Harry to suffer. But Harry wasn't suffering any longer. He was finally let out of his cupboard by Petunia, who had taken pity on him after Harry began nearly panting from the heat. You'd think being in a dark cupboard under the stairs would be somewhat cooler, but no. It was far stuffier due to lack of oxygen and the insulation that grated the walls.

He had taken this, "Vernon-coddling time," to get out of the house. He thought perhaps that now it would be a good time to contemplate on everything that had happened. He hadn't written any letters yet. He hadn't talked to Sirius yet. He hadn't gotten a reply back from Hermione yet. He had yet to receive a letter from Ron yet, although he did receive one from the Weasleys, and she said something about_some interesting news,_ and it seemed as though everyone had suddenly become horrendously busy or contemplative themselves.

Harry walked all the way out of Little Whinging and was now in the local park, swinging on a swing. He felt the way he felt last year whenever Dudley and his friends had caught him there, jeering him and the like. "At least I'm not afraid of my pillows!" Dudley had said. His cronies had laughed. "Who's Cedric, your boyfriend?" And once again, the cronies laughed, this time practically howling. By that time, Harry had shoved his wand up to Dudley's throat and was_more_ than willing to cause him pain. But no, he did not feel the need to cast an Unforgivable at that time. Bellatrix was a different story.

Harry felt anger spark up at just the mere mention of her. She had Crucio'd Neville's parents into oblivion, broken out of Azkaban, tried to kill him and his friends, and wound up working for the Dark Lord all over again. He wondered if she actually liked it. All that loyalty and you just get thrust into Azkaban.

He pondered briefly if Snape enjoyed it. Did he enjoy the perks that came with being the Dark Lord's right hand man? Did he enjoy spying? Harry knew it was impossible to serve two masters. So, was Snape a rogue, then? Only serving himself?

Harry pushed these meaningless thoughts away. It was useless. There were much more pressing matters he should've been thinking about. The baby, for example. He was a parent-to-be…well, almost. He wasn't even pregnant yet. But why was he so nervous? He knew how it went. Nine months of agony (or at least that's what the women said but Harry sincerely doubted it) and then the nightmare of childbirth, and then came the child. Same old, same old. But since he was a guy, would it be different for him?

Would he be at a greater risk for miscarriage? He had heard about women actually _losing_their children. What would happen then? Would the curse upon him, the Dursleys, and his future family be cursed for not following through? What about if the Dursleys rejected the founder recreation? Harry highly doubted that the only thing that would happen is that they would get cursed. Would something else, ten times more terrible happen to someone or something else?

He shook his head in annoyance and was about to head back home whenever he heard some snickering. It wasn't that hard to recognize; it sounded like a cross between that silly American talking dog Goofy, and a pig snort.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Harry Potter," Dudley snorted, his friends sniggering behind him. "Whatcha doin' out here alone? Getting ready to get beaten to a pulp?"

Harry growled. That was the last thing he needed right now. "No Dudley, I came out here to get away from your bloody Dad. Leave me alone!" He jumped off the swingset and began walking away. Perhaps he'd have less trouble if he just headed to over to a public place.

"Oh really? Well, at least I have a Father," Dudley laughed. "Your father was such a drunkard! I heard he died driving the wrong way on the intersection!" His cronies began laughing harder, slapping each other on the backs, and woohooing Dudley as if he was some kind of god.

Harry felt his face heat up. Dudley was lying. He was a lying tyrant, if he ever knew one.

"You didn't _know_ my Father, Dudley, but I know _you_ know for certain that he was _not a drunkard._"

"That's not what Aunt Marge said," Dudley said, and his cronies sniggered again. "He drank himself to death! And don't get me started on your Mum."

Harry wanted nothing more than to hex Dudley right then and there, but he was opposed to doing so. He would run the risk of being expelled…again. He had still not forgotten about last year.

"Piss off, Dudley!" Harry said angrily, pushing Dudley out of his way whenever Dudley stepped in front of him. "I really don't want to deal with you and your _friends_right now, alright?"

But Dudley didn't budge. He simply puffed up his chest and began laughing again. "Oh come on, Potter, just one punch!" he said, and his cronies began laughing hysterically. "I bet you can't even land one! Just try me!"

Harry was momentarily tempted. His head wanted more than to land a punch on Dudley, but if his Uncle Vernon found out, they would be cursed for sure.

"I don't think I will, Dudley," Harry said simply. "You're going to come to my school for a bit. I think that will be punishment enough."

Dudley's face whitened, but his cronies looked puzzled. "What's he talking about?" the tall and skinny one asked.

"Shut up!" Dudley ordered them, and they cowered. "What makes you think that we're even going?"

"Your Dad has suffered some nasty side-effects from that letter my Headmaster gave him. You know that. Plus, _somebody_ should come tonight to pick us up. It's been about two weeks. The Headmaster's letter came later than expected, but it came and we're going to be leaving. Tonight. Now you'll get to see where I _like_ to live."

"At that place where they _beat_ kids to death?" asked one of the cronies. "Wow. He musta been beaten into submission by those teachers!"

Harry smiled. So, Dudley's friends were still under the ridiculously disguised cover, eh? He couldn't help but feel that same feeling he got when he blew up his Aunt Marge. Perhaps he could do that again-no, he would get caught and expelled and well, he wouldn't like that.

Something suddenly hit Harry in the back of his mind. "Dudley, what time is it?" he asked franticly, wondering if he had spent too much time here. Dudley blinked stupidly and gazed at his watch. "4:22, why? Got somewhere you wanna be?"

"Dudley, we leave at 4:30! Come on, we've got to get home!" Harry yelled, and grabbed Dudley's arm, only to be shoved away harshly.

"I'm not going anywhere near that school," Dudley said, crossing his arms, and his cronies crossed their arms with him. "That school is for freaks!"

"Dudley," Harry sighed exasperatedly, desperate to get home and willing to try anything. "Look, do you want a trunk full of sweets?"

Dudley's face whitened, "Whaddya…whaddya mean?"

"I mean, do you want a trunk full of nothing but candies, cakes, and sugary goodness that you haven't had in months?"

Dudley's cronies looked at Dudley puzzled, but Dudley managed to shoo them away. "They have that stuff in…your world?"

Harry managed a laugh. "Do they ever! They have even more than our world! Chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes…you name it, they've got it. They've got every beans of every flavor, for crying out loud!"

Dudley seemed ridiculously intrigued. Ever since his Aunt Petunia put him on that diet, he had been as clean as a whistle. But now…Dudley was about to get just a bit dirty.

"Done! But for a trunkful!" Dudley said, and stuck out his hand. Harry shook it. "Fine then, now, come on!" Harry said, and he continued to grip Dudley's hand, dragging him all the way back to the house.

Whenever they got back to the house, Harry was convinced that his Uncle Vernon had hopped off his rocker and was ready to go into the insane asylum.

"THERE IS NO BLOODY WAY I WILL GO TO THAT SCHOOL! NO WAY!!"

Uncle Vernon's face was puffy and red with both anger and heat; it appeared as though the freezing spell had worn off and he was now suffering the after-effects and the effects of an overheated house. Aunt Petunia was cowering in front of Vernon, whimpering slightly.

"I WILL NOT BE CURSED AGAIN! I WILL NOT!"

"Then you have to go," Harry cut in shortly. "Or else you'll be cursed, but it'll be a far worse curse than the one before."

"How bad?" Vernon asked, a very dangerous tone setting in. Harry took a step back towards the door. Vernon would grab his collar and punch Harry without a second thought, in this mood.

"Aunt Petunia and Dudley would probably die within a year," Harry murmured. Of course, he really had no clue how the curse would work out, but he could speculate. And with how wimpy the Dursleys were anyway, it wouldn't be of any surprise to him if they died within a year.

Vernon looked as if he was about to yell, whenever a knock on the door made them all whirl their heads around. Harry glanced at the clock. 4:30 sharp.

Harry moved towards the door and opened it gently, revealing two people Harry was _very_ glad to see: Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody.

"Professor Moody! Tonks!" Harry said, obviously surprised. "I didn't think you'd be taking us!"

Tonks laughed and stepped inside, Alastor, shifting his eyes back and forth across the street before stepping inside as well.

"We requested that we take you," Tonks said happily, nearly knocking over a coat hanger while trying to get to Harry. "It's been so long since I've been on an assignment."

"It's only been a few weeks!" Alastor protested, but Tonks frowned.

"I like being busy," Tonks said indignantly.

Alastor rolled his eyes, and both Vernon and Petunia looked disgusted whenever his magical eye rolled faster and two times more than the real one.

"Well, anyways, are the Dursleys ready to leave? We've got two other Aurors on every other family and we'd like to hurry up. The train's just about ready to leave," Alastor said.

The Dursleys simply looked dumbstruck as they were grabbed by Tonks, who made sure they were following. "Well then," she said. "Come out onto the street and we'll disapparate and then apparate over to Grand Central and then we'll get on the train. It usually only comes twice a year, but this time, we made an exception. Come on now, hop to, hop to!"

They were marching out the door before you could say, "Quidditch," and once they got to the center of the street, Dudley asked, "What do you mean by disapparate?"

Tonks simply smirked and winked at him, only to receive a shocked expression in return whenever he felt a tugging at his navel and they were suddenly squeezed into an area of nothingness that was so different from anything that he had felt before, that it made him gasp.

The Dursleys had just disapparated.

**Author's Notes: **Well, well, well...poor Dursleys. It would be cool of the curse could reverberate onto them, yes. XD


End file.
